


Lasting's Such A Pity

by starrylitme



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Ambiguous Relationships, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Family Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Not Really Character Death, Platonic Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, mentioned gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8114965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylitme/pseuds/starrylitme
Summary: Chara's a troubled kid, even if they're not quite a kid anymore. They clearly have issues, disappear for days, and have a habit of asking him for creepy favors and showing up bloodied and filthy on his porch at the dead of night when no one else is home.
They also have this thing where any injuries they get quickly heal up without leaving so much as a mark...and that they can recover even from dying, regardless of how gruesome said death is.
Of course Sans is the only guy who knows that last tidbit and is sworn to secrecy on it. Of course he is.
This may or may not haunt him with the ugly things he has to put up with as a result among uglier possibilities he may have to deal with later, but he'll handle it all the same. He'll handle it as well as a wannabe lazybones can.
(Written for Undertale Shipping Pride Month over on tumblr.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. Uh... Well, I was writing this way earlier in addition to Sugarless to have a side-fic distraction when I wasn't in the mood. And somehow, I finished it on Day 22 for Undertale Shipping Pride Month.
> 
> Day 22 is Chara/Sans day. :'D So of course I present you this Chara&Sans story. Even when they're working together, these two are problematic. Man, imagine that. Though I actually really like writing these two on "good" albeit still uneasy terms. Their relationship...is definitely a unique one.
> 
> And I'm really happy with how this idea came out!! It could have gotten a LOT more graphically horrifying and gruesome, but unless I feel the strong desire to (unlikely) or get badgered into it (extremely unlikely), we're not going to go quite that far. It's already pretty rough after all, and just the potential makes me nervous.
> 
> If anyone else wants to tackle this idea in all its horrifying potential, don't let me stop you. (but please tell me about it. i wanna read that.)
> 
> Without any further adieu, please...uh, enjoy??

Papyrus had told him more than a few times to stop falling asleep on the couch on the nights his bro was out working. “I can’t be carrying you to bed every single time I get home, Sans!” Papyrus would exclaim, stomping his foot down.

“You can just leave me there, bro,” Sans would reply.

“Are you out of your MIND?!” Papyrus sputtered. “Do you have any IDEA what leaving you there could do to your spine?!”

Sans did. He just, well, didn’t care. But his brother, cool guy that he was, did care. He cared enough about everything to make up for Sans’s lack of care for anything. But maybe that wasn’t giving himself enough credit.

If Sans really didn’t care, he wouldn’t have responded that incessant knocking that woke him up from that admittedly appallingly uncomfortable couch. If he really didn’t care, he wouldn’t have dragged himself off the lumpy cushions, even as he did so with a worn-down groan.

If Sans really didn’t care, he wouldn’t have opened the door and kept it open for exactly who he thought it was.

“Sans.”

If Sans really didn’t care, he wouldn’t have been affected by the sight of them at all. He honestly should have been used to it by now—but he still felt sick. He still let out a light, unsettled, “welp.”

“Greetings,” Chara greets, with a stiff smile and waving at him with a hand that was encrusted in so much dirt, fingernails bitten short and caked with dried blood. “Nice night out, isn’t it?”

Blood was still streaked down their face. Their clothes were ratty and dirty. They smelled _awful_. They reeked of death, and ironically Sans, a skeleton, still couldn’t help but be bothered by that.

...If Sans didn’t care, he wouldn’t have thought about how this was exactly what he feared when Tori told him about them not responding to any calls in the past few days.

“The uh, stars were lovely—I was able to see the Ursa Minor and Ursa Major. I’m sorry, it,” Chara laughs a little, like he had caught them with their pockets full of stolen candy. They’re probably thinking about how time and time again, he’s not so subtly told them to please, _please_ just be careful for Tori’s sake, of course. “It, uh... It took me a while to find my way back here...”

Sans didn’t say anything. His permanent grin looked more like a grimace, and then he sighed.

For what it was worth, Chara looked pretty embarrassed too.

“...Can... Can I use your shower?”

Sans chuckles mirthlessly, shaking his head and stepping aside. “Knock yourself out kid, but not—”

“Not literally,” Chara finishes at the same time he says it. Their smile is a bit more genuine, almost relieved. Sans does smile back, but he hardly returns the enthusiasm.

For what it’s worth, he shuts the door with a sharp fling of his magic, and keeps a gentle hand on the kid’s back as he leads them to the bathroom.

Chara hasn’t been an actual kid for a while now, but they allow it all the same.

* * *

As much as he’d love to give the kid some privacy—and himself a couple of moments to pretend this was all perfectly normal for other people, Chara needs him to check the back of their head for marks. And to make sure they got all the blood and gore out of their hair if necessary. If the two of them weren’t absolutely thorough, someone would pick up on it. Someone like Tori.

Neither of them wanted that.

“So, what was it this time?” Sans asks, almost causally as his bony fingers run through their hair. Chara sighs at the motions—a sign that their scalp still felt tender. “Blow to the back of the head? Gunshot?”

“Gunshot,” Chara says, shrugging their shoulders and scrubbing at their arms irritably. “Thankfully the bullet went all the way through.”

“That’s why I keep telling you to be careful, Chara.” His tone is dull and matter-of-fact. “I can’t do much if anything if you get a bullet stuck in your skull.”

“You removed one from my leg, once.” And how scary the kid’s determination was _that_ time, being able to limp all the way to his porch in spite of that. Sans rolled his eye sockets, but Chara went on. “Also my shoulder, my stomach... My heart...”

“Yeah, and you kind of died both times during those last two.”

“And I got better,” Chara chirps, and they laugh, easily and cheerfully, “Like I always do.”

“Yeah,” Sans agrees absent-mindedly, scanning the back of their head for any scars. He didn’t see anything thus far. Never did. “Like always.”

Because he might as well, he washes their hair for them. It’s an annoyance that some strands get stuck between bones, but enough times of doing this has gotten him plenty of experience in disentangling what gets caught without pulling their hair out. Besides, it’s better the strands than dirt among other, grosser things getting wedged within the crevices of his hands.

That’s _always_ a pain to wash out. And he absolutely can’t be lazy about that because the bar he frequents has too many dogs in it. They might get the wrong idea or the right idea for the wrong reasons. He can’t have that.

Speaking of which, “Do I have to help you hide another body, kid?”

Chara shrugs as he pulls back, allowing them to rinse off.

“Don’t think so,” they say with a hum blurring with running water. “We were in a pretty remote area—and I think the guy, for what it was worth, had good instincts in picking a place to dump bodies. It would have taken weeks, I think, for me to get found under normal circumstances.”

“Ugh,” Sans groaned in disgust. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“It’s better than that guy who threw me into the river,” Chara said simply. And yeah, _that_ time could still get him shuddering, bones rattling. Chara, at least, shoots him an apologetic, albeit not very sincere smile over their shoulder before turning back and giggling to theirself. “I don’t think you have to do anything this time, Sans. It’s fine.”

“Fine,” Sans both echoes and replies, and the tenor of his voice drags, as does his gaze down Chara’s back. There are no marks here, either. Just a flawless, awkwardly lanky mess of limbs and sinew—they’re not actually a kid anymore. But their appearance hardly suggested otherwise.

...Then again, their appearance also suggested they’d never been hit by anything except adolescence.

So, yeah, Sans hardly thinks about that. It’s still Tori’s problem kid—it’s still Chara.

In spite of everything, it’s still them.

He sighs. He washes out their hair out a second time, just to be extra thorough, as Chara hums and hums like nothing’s wrong with this at all. It’s just normal, commonplace activity. In some regards, it is.

It’s fine. It’s absolutely fine.

* * *

Except it’s not really fine when Chara has to talk to Toriel via Sans’s phone, dressed in his baggy shorts and one of his five clean shirts. It doesn’t help that Tori is especially hysterical in demanding questions as to _where they’ve been_ , _what **happened**_ , _how_ are _they_ , and—and Chara may be one of the most prodigious liars Sans has had the misfortune of knowing, but it’s clear that they’re struggling with trying to come up with a good, believable story that’d settle their worried mother’s concerns.

It’s bad enough that Sans has to help—and Chara’s awkward, one-handed signing gets only more aggravated when Sans’s suggestions are less than adequate.

“Yes, yes—I _swear_ I’m fine, Mom,” they sigh for the umpteenth time, but their tone is more fond than irritated. “You can just ask Sans after I give his phone back. Yes, Papyrus is still working. When I ah, got here, he was already gone.”

Chara’s fiddling with the baggy ends of their borrowed shirt. They’re also noting the various stains with vague, empty interest.

“I’ll see you soon,” they say. “I love you, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

When they hand the phone off to Sans, they’re unmoving and quiet, and probably will be for a while, even after Sans hangs up. Tori had asked him, of course, and he technically tells the truth when he says there’s not even a scratch on them.

“You’re not hiding anything are you, Sans?” Tori asks, and he stiffens a bit, but laughs that off.

“Tori, the kid’s _fine_. I checked them over and didn’t find anything wrong. I swear it.”

“...Thank you, my friend.” And Tori’s so quiet—so sullen and resigned but also relieved and so, so trusting in spite of everything. God, it’s hard to think Chara hates this as much as he does. But he’s not that conceited. “If something happens, Sans...”

“I will tell you,” he says, firmly. “No _bones_ about it.”

Tori’s giggle is weak, but he hears a genuine smile in there.

“Good night, Tori. I’ll return your problem kid in the morning.”

“Good night, Sans.”

Chara’s twisting the end of his shirt. Really, he should start keeping their clothes over here with how often this happens. If nothing else, when Papyrus gets home—he’s probably going to insist on taking them shopping for new outfits after they’re up.

Sans hooks up his phone to the charger because it’s almost dead. Or, rather, because he might as well and that it’s almost dead.

Chara’s fidgeting on that uncomfortable couch. At this point, he should just urge them to the bed in his room—or to his bro’s bed. Papyrus barely uses it anyway. Even though the sheets don’t smell as nice, according to Chara. But that kid had weird tastes.

Like trusting him with their ‘condition’ over anyone else.

That was how Sans prefers to look at it—even though he knows that’s not really why.

All the same, their tastes were weird.

Chara meets his gaze, keeping it from boring into their skull, and despite everything, gives him a wide, rosy-cheeked smile. Even as a not-quite kid, the effect was the same.

...They really were...a peculiar sort.

* * *

He’s known Chara essentially all their life, what with him knowing Tori and her ex for decades, having worked for the latter for years while he was doing all sorts of odd jobs. Even before being formally adopted, Chara was...troubled.

Chara tried to stab him once with the kitchen knife. He wasn’t the only one that happened to, apparently. At least Toriel got him a nice new jacket while apologizing profusely. He hasn’t stopped wearing it since.

But, even if he and Chara had their...uh, _problems_... He liked to think that overall, they got along fine. They listened to Papyrus without complaint, and were pretty close to Tori’s other kid, Asriel, on most good days. They weren’t the greatest, yeah, but they weren’t the worst either.

Chara warmed up to him and everyone else. They got better at behaving, even if they still got into trouble, and Sans had gotten kind of good at metaphorically sniffing the kid out when they did.

...It had been an accident the first time he learned about what happened if they died. Chara had known for even longer and never explained how they first learned, except that, well, there had been quite the mess to clean before Asriel and Asgore got home. Sans could probably figure it out if he tried, but he really kind of didn’t want to.

He never wanted to know something like this was possible in the first place. He could’ve been living in blissful ignorance and depressed about all the _other_ crappy things in his life he had no control over.

But he was stuck with this on top of everything. Because he couldn’t say no to Chara begging him to keep this a secret. Because he cared too much about the kid of his old boss and pun pal. Because Chara was relieved that someone else finally knew—but panicked when Sans suggested telling other people.

This was just how it had to be now. Tori’s kid always comes back to life, and he now gets to nurse a new horrifying fear of what would happen if said kid ended up trapped somewhere they couldn’t escape from and would be stuck dying over and **_over_** again until they were found for however long it took.

This is his life now. It can’t be helped. There’s nothing he can do about it. That’s great because he loves doing nothing.

Somehow, that was a weirdly comforting thought.

...But, uh, thing is, something this messed up will inevitably mess up a guy all the same.

Sans still has nightmares and flashes of having to deal with the fallout of some of Chara’s nastier deaths. He’s once had the misfortune of having to keep his hands pressed against their stomach to keep their guts from literally spilling out. And yeah, Chara, delirious and giggly, kept making jokes. After they passed out and healed up, Sans learned that was indeed possible for a skeleton to throw up. Or something like that.

He blocked a lot of that day out—and all the same, his appetite was never quite the same again.

It’s a good thing his brother was such a bad cook. No one questioned him when he just brushed the illness off as food poisoning. Though Papyrus probably suspected there was more to it—it was an even better thing that his brother didn’t ask a lot of questions.

Sans kept his secrets. Papyrus understood that.

Papyrus worried, but it was better this way.

...Although it wasn’t, really. It was just how it had to be.

* * *

“Chara came home.”

“ _OH_?!”

“...Well, I mean, they’re here. Our home. Not like, their home.”

“This _IS_ their home, Sans! It’s their _thir_ d home!”

“Heh, well,” Sans can’t help but laugh; can’t help but agree since it’s pretty much true. “I suppose.”

Papyrus has the widest grin as he sets his stuff aside, sighing as he does. He still glares when Sans pops his joints, but with a roll of his eye sockets, he just moves on to slightly more important matters.

“Chara was gone for a long time,” he says, and it’s almost a conversational tone if not for his steadily dropping tone. “Sans... Were they...?”

“They were fine as always. Not a scratch.” Funny how the not-quite-lies taste even worse when fed to his bro, who he by far trusts the most. “It was just like the other times. Though they were, uh, filthy. They’re clean now. And in your room. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t! But...” Papyrus still seemed uncertain. “Chara’s about as good at telling others things as you are. You’re a terrible influence on them, Sans.”

Sans snorts. _Yeah, well, that goes both ways._

“Eh, what can I say?”

He’s not going to say anything. He’s already accepted that. He wonders for how long Papyrus will be alright with that. He doesn’t wonder for too long.

“I worry terribly about them, you know,” Papyrus says. “And, well, I know you’re not being fully honest with me. Chara may be fond of you, Sans, but there has to be some other reason that they always go to you first after they’ve been...out and about for a while. You have to admit that’s more than a little suspicious.”

“Yeah,” Sans says with a shrug. “It is.”

“Chara has you sworn to secrecy, don’t they?”

Papyrus’s question is unsettlingly quiet. The house in general is unsettlingly quiet. He can’t even pretend Chara’s snoring away in his bro’s room right now because, well—that kid sleeps like the _dead_.

Sans laughs, lowly, at first, but then, for a moment, his voice rises in fervor as his bones rattle.

But he quickly stops himself, covering his mouth. The rattling’s more difficult to settle, and Papyrus, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, makes him flinch.

“Breathe,” Papyrus says carefully. Sans does.

He doesn’t need to, but he does.

“If you made a promise, it can’t be helped,” Papyrus goes on, and that he looks so understanding almost has Sans rattling all over again. “Do you think, however, that Chara will open up to me as well? I don’t see why the two of you should shoulder whatever this is alone.”

Sans shakes his head.

“No. No way in hell.”

He doesn’t doubt for a moment that they won’t. Hell, he can’t even begin to consider what Chara will say to him—Chara might get upset with _both_ of them and, well, then what? Well... No, actually. Chara probably won’t blame him. Chara might understand that there are just some things that his bro is bound to pick up on.

...Still. He doesn’t want to consider it.

With the way he shakes his head firmly and almost furiously, even at Papyrus’s deepening frown, he can only hope that his bro understands that much.

“Sans...” Papyrus says, and reaches out for him.

In his mind’s eye, the scene shifts to Chara reaching, to them gripping handfuls of his jacket, covered in dirt and gore and begging that he just please, please, _please_ help them and not tell a soul about _what just happened_.

...Right. It’s not just Chara who’s been covered in filth. It’s not just Chara with hands that have been bloodied, literally and figuratively.

There’s no way Sans can consider telling Papyrus about any of **_t h a t_ t h e r e ’ s j u s t _n o w a y . . ._**

“Sorry, bro,” Sans says and makes a zipping motion across his permanent grin. “My lips are forever sealed.”

Papyrus frowns, but, thank god, he leaves it at that with a sigh and a pat on his head.

It’s an innocuous almost comforting gesture, but somehow Sans feels like he’s just being pushed down even deeper.

* * *

“I didn’t know what else to do, Sans.”

“Okay.”

“They just—they _freaked_ out and I just... I _just_...”

“Okay.”

“They _killed me first_...! They **_deserved_** it!!”

“Okay.”

“I-It’s better this way... They would have hurt someone else... They would have...”

“Okay.”

“They had to go. They saw me. They killed me. They _deserved_ to die— _they would have killed someone else_ —!”

“Okay.”

“It... It...”

“Okay.”

“...Sans...”

“It’s okay, Chara.”

“... _Sans_...”

“It’s okay.”

* * *

Every single time, Toriel hugs them like she was scared she’d never get to see them again. She doesn’t blubber anymore, at least—but in moments where she draws the kid into her arms and embraces them tight enough to crush, some emotions just haven’t waned with time. And once she pulls away, she’s as firm and stern as ever in her reprimands.

Chara’s smile does falter in these times—but their gaze has gotten increasingly vacant.

Sans doesn’t feel much either when Tori thanks him, squeezing his shoulder and granting him a wide, warm, gracious smile. He does grin back, as pained as it feels even as he’s a pro at hiding it, but even with all that warmth, he feels...cold. He wonders if he really cares as much as Tori seems to think.

He might. He might not.

But there is some relief in declining Tori’s offer for some pie and tea—even if said tea isn’t the same quality brand that her ex favors—in just waving cheerfully as Tori wishes him off before heading inside, Chara following behind, and Chara shutting the door behind them.

Chara doesn’t look at him, and that’s just fine. At least they’re home.

Fluffyboy and Asriel are going to be beyond relieved—Sans wonders if the former is still going to cry tears of relief once Papyrus relays the information to Undyne, who’ll inevitably let the big guy know. He does know, at least, that Asriel’s going to be noticeably clingier in the following weeks.

He’s...glad.

He’s definitely glad. He’s relieved.

He’d like to think Chara feels the same way.

* * *

“Can you imagine what it’s like?” Chara had asked him, once, while stirring their tea. Sitting beside them with a respectable amount of distance, Sans made _some_ kind of sound in response as he slightly adjusted the way he resting his head in his arms. Chara repeats, clarifying, “Can you imagine what coming back to life—coming back from something that should have—or did, in fact, kill you?”

“I could, but,” Sans shrugs, easy grin straining. “Even if I _did_ suffer from the same...condition... It’s not like I’d be guaranteed to understand how you feel, kid. I don’t have all the squishy insides and complex systems that you do. All I got is bones. And magic. Magic bones.”

“Monsters do leave behind a mess that’s easier to sweep up,” Chara muses, almost amused. Sans isn’t really seeing the humor in it, so he just shrugs again. They go on, almost dreamily, “Humans leave behind such a _heap_. It’s gross. It’s so, so gross.”

“It’s not just humans,” Sans points out. “Animals die much the same way. It’s more normal for living creatures to die like that than—crumbling, like plants and rocks do. Wouldn’t you say so?”

“I suppose...” Chara mutters, voice and lashes low. They stare into their tea, at perhaps their reflection or at the steam, dissipating into the air. “Sans... Would you say I’m human? Would you say I’m alive?”

Sans perks up, but he hardly misses a beat. “Yeah, I would.”

“Really?” Chara asks, so, so quietly. He nods.

“You breathe like living things do—your body grows and develops, and well, you have all the same parts a typical human has, inside and out. So, yeah. I really would, kid.” Then, he adds, “The only thing abnormal about you is how you recover. And even then...”

“It’s more than that,” Chara says. “There’s more to it than just...that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know unless you tell me,” Sans sighs and settles more into his folded arms. “But, hey, even if that’s true, I doubt my feelings would change.”

“They probably wouldn’t.” At least they agree. At least there’s that. Except. “Sans... Do you remember that time you caught Papyrus’s cold, and you—you got really sick?”

He did. He’d prefer it if he didn’t with how unpleasant the whole experience was. Everyone had been really worried too, even Papyrus, _especially_ Papyrus when the cold lasted longer than it had any business to. Chara, come to think of it, spent an awful lot of time trying to nurse him back to health in addition to his bro and Tori.

“There was a time where Asriel got pretty sick too—and it was something he caught from Dad,” Chara recalls. “Mom and I worried a lot then, as well. And... There was this bug going around school. So many kids got sick, and Mom worried I would too, but... I never did. Sans, I’ve never been sick _once_.”

“That’s...”

“There’s more,” Chara says. “Other people—other humans talk about growing pains—I... Even though I grow, I never got those either. My body’s never ached—I don’t think I’ve ever been physically tired before _ever_. I’m...so healthy it’s unbelievable...deaths aside, and even then...”

Sans swallows, and he knows.

“Even when I get injured, and it hurts—god, it hurts so _much_ —it doesn’t take long for the pain to just, disappear. Like it never even existed. Like none of that ever happened.” There’s a laugh. There’s an edge to that laugh. “Isn’t that—? That’s more than just abnormal. It’s _disgustingly_ abnormal.”

And just like that, they shattered the teacup in their grip. Sans shot up from his chair immediately, cursing. He quickly went to retrieve something to clean the mess, but from what he could tell, Chara never moved from their spot.

They just sat there, looking at their bloodied hand, eyes wide and dull like someone stuck at the end of the world.

“This too, will disappear,” they whisper, almost in a soft enough volume that they couldn’t be heard. “Just like it never happened—just like nothing ever happened...”

“ _Except_ ,” Sans cuts in with a huff, pressing a rag down into the spill. “We’re never getting that teacup back.”

Chara doesn’t say anything else as he soaks up the tea and mops it all away. He then took their hand, tearing open a packet of a disinfectant wipe with his teeth before cleaning up the rest of the mess—the rest of the blood.

“Here’s to hoping there isn’t any shards stuck in your skin,” Sans mutters, and observes their fingers and palm closely. There’s not so much as a scratch in sight but his metaphorical brow still looks furrowed, his grin strained. “I...think it’s okay?”

He straightens up a bit, a little bit more relaxed, but still noticeably tense. His smile then was the kind clearly meant for reassurance.

Chara, snuffling, leaned forward until their head was pressed against his shoulder. Without even thinking, their hand had gripped Sans’s in return, and tugged both hands close to theirself. Sans was stiff, and being a skeleton, wasn’t warm at all. Additionally...

“You smell like ketchup,” the kid muttered, muffled against his jacket. “And bones.” A pause, before they finished, in a much softer tone, “And dust.”

“It’s...an old coat...” Sans said, slowly and rigidly. Then he sighed, and the words flowed together much smoother, “Look, don’t worry about that. Worry about other things—like that cup you broke. I quite liked that cup, y’know? It was cute. How am I supposed to replace it?”

Chara shook their head against him, releasing his hand in order to grip more handfuls of that old, musty coat with nothing more than a shudder wracking their frame.

“You say I’m human, but, I don’t think I agree, Sans,” they almost whisper, and Sans wouldn’t have heard them if they weren’t so close. “I don’t know what I am. I have no idea. I... I really don’t...”

Sans doesn’t respond at first. But, after a while, he tentatively brings his arms around, patting the back of the kid’s head, almost but not quite stroking their hair. Despite how sad this attempt at comfort was, Chara seemed to just sink into him even more.

“You’re human,” he says, because there’s nothing else _to_ say.

* * *

A couple nights later, his phone buzzes. He’s tempted to ignore it—he almost does. Then, he thinks about the likeliest person who’d be calling at this hour, and he answers.

“Y’ello?”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Chara’s whispered question is almost immediate—almost before he has the chance to finish his half-assed greeting. “Were you sleeping or just staring blankly at the ceiling? I’d really like to know.”

“I’m fine; how are you?” Sans asks, tone flat and uninterested. Chara’s soft laugh in response is just a little too breathy—it’s almost wheezy. Smile twitching, Sans goes on. “So, uh, you want me to tell you a bedtime story or something, kiddo? I’ve got the entire Fluffy Bunny series memorized.”

“I’m not a kid,” Chara says, voice feathery light. Sans’s smile twitches more.

“Or I can recite quantum theories,” he goes on. Chara hums. He suggests, “Maybe poems? **_Deep into the darkness peering_** —”

“Ooh, a classic,” Chara giggles. It sounds so genuine that he stops. He listens to them breathe, to the fading smile in even inhale, and then he sighs.

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“Not a kid,” Chara reminds him, with an edge that could almost be considered smug.

“You’re _Tori’s_ kid,” Sans corrects. “You’ll always be Tori’s kid—and Asgore’s for that matter.”

Chara doesn’t say anything. So he goes on.

“Plus, uh, you can’t complain about the moniker now when it’s been years. Also, well, you certainly don’t complain at _other_ times.”

“There are _other_ things to worry about in those _other_ times,” Chara says, simply and sharp enough to only need one precise slice. Sans shrugs, makes a sound that probably lets Chara know he’s shrugging.

“So why worry now? Y’want me switching to like, bucko or somethin’?”

“Just my name,” Chara said, and their voice is tight. “Just call me by my name.”

“Chara,” Sans says, and then asks, “What’s wrong with you?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Chara chuckles, however weakly and ruefully the sound is. “And who says something’s wrong? I can’t just want to talk to you, Sans?”

“I’m sure Asriel’s better at this whole late night chatting thing.” Chara hums as he sighs harder, rolling his eye-lights. “I’m getting the feeling you want to talk about something you don’t want _him_ to hear.”

“I’m thinking of running away and never coming back. Will you take me somewhere far, far away, Sans?”

Kid didn’t even take a pause.

Huh.

“Not much of a runner, kid. I’m more of a slow walker. So if you want to just, like, slowly walk away from all your problems, I’m your guy.”

“I want to disappear,” Chara says. “I can’t think of anyone who’s better at disappearing than you.”

“I _dunno_ ,” Sans replies. “Blooks seems to have mastered the art.”

“They’re also good at lying around and feeling like garbage—just like _you_ ,” Chara hisses that last bit, and then huffs. “Sans, you know there’s no way in hell I’d involve someone as _sensitive_ as _them_. If Asriel can’t know, then why on earth would you _ever_ think—?”

“Thinking,” Sans muses. “Not one of my favorite pastimes.”

“Sans,” Chara chides, but there’s a good-natured quality to it. He knows the kind of smile they’re probably sporting right now, even if it’s tinged with frustration. Papyrus would smile like that, sometimes.

Papyrus.

“When I disappeared—it never took that long for Papyrus to be a wreck, right?” he asks. On the other end, Chara immediately goes silent. He doesn’t even hear them inhale. But he goes on, as casually and cheerfully as ever, “What do you think your disappearance would do to Asriel, Chara? Or Tori? Or Asgore? At what point do you think they’d realize you weren’t coming back? What do you think they’ll do when they realize that? They’ll probably blame themselves, huh?”

“They...” Chara starts, and Sans cuts them off, coldly and bluntly with,

“Guilt will eat them _alive_ , kid. They’ll keep wondering—what if I had done _this_? What if I said _that_? Do you think _they’d still be here_ if I **_just_** —if I just did at least one thing _differently_? Where did it go wrong? What did I do _wrong_?”

“I-It’s not their fault,” Chara stammers, every bit like the kid they are. “And... It’s not your fault either, Sans. I swear. I swear _it’s just me_.”

“You’re not the only hot mess around here, kid,” Sans tells them, smooth and just a little bit gentle. Then, with a chuckle, “Though, since skeletons don’t exactly put off heat, maybe _hot_ isn’t the word I should use...”

A pause.

“You say that,” Chara starts, even as they stumble a bit on their words. “But your brother is one of the _warmest_ people I know.”

And of course he agreed whole-heartedly with that. Of course he did.

Papyrus—really was a great guy. He...really deserved better.

Both of them are quiet. Both of them are probably thinking of their bros and each other’s bros.

He doesn’t know Asriel that well. Asriel’s...shy and a bit of a crybaby and that’s the gist of what he’s got. But he knows a good kid when he sees them. And he sees the way Chara is around him. He and Tori’s problem kid, unfortunately, have a lot in common.

One’s undead and the other literally can’t die. And they’re both skeletons. One just has extra meat on them. Or something like that.

“Sans...” The way Chara starts, it’s like they’re not sure whether to make a statement or a question. The silence that follows is one that’s heavy with an awful lot of thoughts permeating the air, and then, “You’re not going to take me anywhere, are you?”

“You couldn’t guess that on your own?” he asks, and his tone is more than a little dull. “You seriously have to _ask_?”

Chara laughs. It’s low, at first, and only gets lower and lower, sadder and sadder.

“I’m not a monster,” they say, more like mumble, with a bitter tinge to the smile in their voice.

“Nah,” Sans agrees. “That’s why you’re not going to do something terrible like leaving your family behind, right? Kid?”

“But that sounds like such a _human_ thing to do, doesn’t it?” they ask. “Running from your problems like a coward—disappearing from the lives of those who love you because you’re self-centered enough to think that they won’t _understand_ you... Only humans would consider something so hopeless and idiotic.”

“I hear skeletons and humans are actually pretty closely related,” Sans notes and grimaces. “Welp, that’s worrying. It looks like Paps got more good genes than I thought.”

“I’m...” Chara pauses and then. “I think we’re very similar, Sans.”

“That’s even more worrying,” Sans muses. “I’ve got a skele _ton_ of problems, y’know.”

“I do,” they agree with a surprisingly warm chuckle. “We’re both boneheads, to be sure.”

“You should get to sleep,” he tells them. “It’s getting real late. We can talk again later, if you just hang around.”

A hum. A pause. “Sans, I’m thinking of hanging myself later. Can I ask you to...?”

“Wait, Chara,” He laughs, light and almost cheery before his tone plummets, “I’m going to have to **_s t o p y o u r i g h t t h e r e_**. . . There’s only so much you can **_ask_** from a guy, you know.”

“Oh,” Chara says. “Sorry, did that disturb you, Sans?”

“The hell do you _think_?” He actually snaps. The suddenness of it seems to startle the kid, because he almost hears them flinch. Or maybe he just knows the kid that well—even though he can’t understand the whole dying thing at all, he can’t—

He just can’t get it. He doesn’t want to get it, either.

“Sorry,” Chara repeats, meekly.

Sans just sighs.

“You...should get to sleep. It’s getting real late. We can talk again later, if you just...”

“Good night, Sans,” Chara says. “Sweet dreams.”

“...Yeah,” he says, nods even if it’s meaningless to the recipient who can’t see his expression, and he listens to that tell-tale click of the kid hanging up.

Sans doesn’t sleep at all that night.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [New Plan, Best Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9526316) by [TheLackadaisicalRoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLackadaisicalRoy/pseuds/TheLackadaisicalRoy)




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